The Queen Who Fights Back (by Lily Hastings) novel Chapter 16

Chapter 16

No matter how hard Nova tried to unravel the tangled thoughts swirling in her mind, clarity eluded her. Instead of forcing herself to understand, she simply let the confusion drift away and headed home. The night had deepened by the time she finally crossed the threshold of Blake Villa—it was already 9:30 PM.

Maxwell was waiting for her the moment she stepped inside, standing rigidly near the door with a frown etched across his face.

“Everything’s been taken care of. Why are you only just getting back now?” His voice was sharp, tinged with frustration.

“And where have you been? It’s so late. Mom and Dad were nearly out looking for you,” he added, worry seeping through his stern tone.

Earlier that evening, after the tense episode at Frostwave Bar, Maxwell and the others had been detained at the police station to provide their statements. That process had dragged on far longer than expected, consuming precious hours. Nova, however, should have been home well before them.

Maxwell’s agitation was understandable—waiting this long without any sign of her naturally stirred concern. But beneath his worry lay something harsher: a sharp edge of blame. The usual laid-back, protective older brother persona Maxwell held around Nova was noticeably absent.

By now, Nova had grown accustomed to this change in him. With one hand casually tucked into her pocket, she replied with a cool, nonchalant tone, “The night was nice, so I decided to stay out a bit longer.”

Though skeptical, Maxwell recalled how Nova had conducted herself at Frostwave Bar, the calm mask she wore concealing layers of secrets. He swallowed his questions, unwilling to push further.

“Next time, no matter what kind of trouble you get into, you have to be home by nine. That’s the Blake family curfew,” Maxwell declared firmly.

“Alright, Max. She just got back. Cut her some slack, will you?” Fiona interjected softly but with undeniable firmness.

She maneuvered her wheelchair closer, balancing a steaming bowl of chicken soup carefully in her hands. Pressing the warm bowl into Nova’s palms, Fiona continued, “Your dad and I set that nine o’clock curfew because we worry about you all being out late. It’s just not always safe for girls at night.”

“Nova, your brother can be sharp-tongued sometimes, but he only wants to protect you. Both he and Hannah have trained in self-defense, but you haven’t learned anything yet.”

“Tomorrow, I’ll talk to your dad. Maybe we can get a martial arts instructor to come over and teach you how to really defend yourself.”

Charles had already gone upstairs to rest after hearing Nova was home; he needed to be up early for work the next day.

Fiona’s words continued, but Nova’s gaze drifted away, lost in thought. As she accepted the bowl, her eyes lingered on the rich, fragrant broth. A sudden memory surfaced—a ghost from her childhood.

Years ago, when she was just a little girl, Nova had found a child in a dilapidated slum at the heart of a war zone. That had been a decade ago.

Back then, Nova had been utterly alone. But through countless nights spent sleeping on cold streets, she and that child had clung to each other, the only family they had. They became each other’s lifeline, promising to survive no matter what storms came their way.

Yet fate rarely shows mercy to those struggling to survive in the shadows.

The child fell ill and died, a victim of the lack of a few dollars’ worth of medicine.

In his final moments, he grasped her hand, eyes wide with innocence and sincerity, whispering a simple wish: “Nova, am I not going to make it? If there’s a next life, I want to be your real brother.”

“I wish we could have chicken soup together—the kind only kids with real moms and dads get.”

“I’m sorry, Nova. I can’t stay with you anymore. But you’ll find your parents someday, and then you’ll have all the chicken soup you want.”

That child’s hope had finally been fulfilled—Nova had found her parents at last.

She held the bowl of soup her mother had lovingly prepared, the warmth radiating through her palm. The broth was rich, fragrant, and comforting.

Now, she could have chicken soup whenever she wished. She could summon anything this world had to offer with a mere gesture.

But no matter how much she possessed, nothing could bring that child back.

“Nova, what’s on your mind? Eat your soup while it’s still warm. It tastes better that way,” Fiona softly urged, pulling her back from her reverie.

“Okay,” Nova murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

For once, she quietly finished every last drop of the soup, behaving like a well-mannered child. Not a single drop was wasted.

Maxwell observed the scene quietly, curiosity flickering in his eyes. He couldn’t help but wonder what thoughts were running through Nova’s mind. Was she reflecting on her past?

Just as Nova turned to head upstairs, Maxwell stopped her with a sudden reminder. “Wait. Do you even know tomorrow’s Zane’s birthday?”

“He’s throwing a party on the school grounds tomorrow night. Almost everyone’s going.”

“After class, make sure you pick out a proper outfit.”

Zane was one of the three most popular boys at Saint Laurel Royal Academy and the founder of the Taekwondo club. He was also Maxwell’s chief rival at school.

Saint Laurel Royal Academy was a world of its own, where every student came from families with deep pockets and serious influence.

When someone threw a birthday party on campus, it was a grand event—attended by teachers and students alike, akin to a royal ball.

Though the Free Combat Club and the Taekwondo club rarely saw eye to eye, Maxwell would still attend Zane’s birthday party.

“Alright,” Nova said softly, nodding before heading upstairs.

The following day, the entire academy buzzed with excitement. Zane’s birthday wasn’t just any celebration—it was the event of the year, the talk of every student.

Countless romances had blossomed at these parties, and many students left their single days behind forever.

For the girls, the hope of catching Zane’s eye and being chosen as his dance partner was a dream beyond price.

From early morning, the girls were caught up in the frenzy of getting ready.

“Nova, what do you think of my makeup today? Does it look natural? I don’t look too old, right? Is this too much for Zane’s party?” Sophia’s lively chatter echoed through the halls every time class ended.

“It’s good,” Nova replied simply.

“Okay, then I’m sticking with this look. But Nova, why aren’t you worried about your outfit tonight? No makeup, no special clothes—aren’t you even a little nervous about the party?” Sophia pressed.

Nova flipped her hair back with a lazy smirk. “I don’t care.”

Sophia’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Wait, seriously? You’re going to show up like this?”

Nova raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with that?”

Sophia sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. “Girl, everyone’s going all out to stand out. Nobody wants to blend into the background tonight.”

His sharp features and effortless confidence made him the center of attention.

That aloof, mysterious vibe was exactly what drove the teenage girls wild.

This was Zane Morgan, the star of the evening and the heartthrob of every girl present.

Emily’s eyes glazed over as she caught sight of Zane, completely mesmerized.

Her mind went blank; she straightened up, chin raised high, determined to capture his attention.

“That country bumpkin probably hasn’t even been to a real party before, let alone one this grand,” Emily sneered internally.

She’d heard about Nova for ages, picturing her as some awkward girl who couldn’t dress herself and had never stepped foot in high society.

“What kind of idiot just shows up to a night like this with no shame?” Emily scoffed silently.

Seeing Zane approach, Emily seized the moment to stir the pot.

As he drew near, she raised her voice, ensuring everyone could hear, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Speaking in Voskundi, she said, “Nova, I heard before you came back to the Blake family and became their heiress, you were someone’s mistress? Is that true?”

Not everyone knew Voskundi, but Emily lifted her chin proudly, clearly showing off her language skills.

She’d spent a summer abroad just to pick up a few phrases, eager to flaunt her knowledge and appear sophisticated.

To her, using Voskundi on Nova was like casting pearls before swine.

With a flick of her hair and a peacock-like strut, Emily reveled in her moment.

But beneath it all, what she really craved was Zane’s attention.

She glanced furtively, hoping he was watching—and indeed, his eyes landed on her.

Her cheeks flushed crimson, and she dropped her gaze, utterly flustered.

The crowd around Nova exchanged pitying looks, waiting for her to falter.

It was clear to them that Nova wasn’t the polished heiress raised on tutors and cocktail parties. Tonight, the language barrier had tripped her up.

“Look at her—standing there lost, clueless about what Emily just said. Does she even know that was Voskundi?” they whispered.

All eyes fixed on Nova as she suddenly lifted her head, her gaze icy and piercing.

Then, with perfect fluency and a smooth, authentic accent, she spoke in Voskundi.

“Believe me, what you should really believe is that I could snap your neck right here and now.”